My Name is Kizami Yuuya
by 1thousandminus7
Summary: Death is beautiful, isn't it? Kizami has always known this, but it's only now, in this cursed school that he gets to indulge in his favourite form of art. Featuring one sexy redhead model. Rated M for Murder. Sorry no smut here, you'll have to ask nicely for that.


**A/N: A short piece I wanted to write for... reasons. Enjoy.**

 **WARNING I feel like this shouldn't be necessary. You're in the Corpse Party archive, you must be cool with this. But anyway, rated for sadism, murder and general dark and gruesome themes.**

My name is Kizami Yuuya.

I am a student of Byakudan High School. I am eighteen years old.

I am currently holding a knife to my classmate's neck as we all slowly rot in a hell dimension of a school known as Heavenly Host Elementary. This one had put up a fight. Shimada Kai, who had always been a troublemaker, and who had singled me out as somewhat of a rival, now writhed in my grip, causing blood as red as the dye in his hair to run across his skin. He was only an inch or so shorter than me, and knew how to throw a punch. Still, at the end of the day, I had a knife and he did not. And what a beautiful blade it was, its edge mildly serrated and gleaming where blood did not matte its shine like rust. It felt good in my hand. In one smooth move I had him pinned to the wall, my hand where the knife had been and my prized blade nicking the skin by his collarbone, staining his white shirt that most beautiful colour. Though on the outside I kept a straight face, inside I was lost in that strange, distant joy that came with this power. His blue eyes, always so cocky and mocking, finally showed what I wanted to see most; fear. At first, he had been happy to see me. Sure, he didn't want to be, and tried to pass it off with his usual arrogance, but he couldn't hide it. It was the same with everyone I found. They were all so relieved to see me, until they realised what I was doing. Couldn't they see? They should be grateful. I was sparing them from the whims of the sadistic school we were trapped in. If they didn't die in some horrible accident, they would ever so slowly starve, or die of thirst, or go insane. I was protecting them from that.

Then again, the fear in their eyes is half the fun.

After the initial joy had worn off, and he'd seen the bloody weapon in my hands, he had taken a step back. Asked what I was doing. Always the same. I hadn't responded, except to take the first swing. Unlike the others, he hadn't run. He grabbed the nearest weapon- a broken floorboard- and had fought back. But I was stronger. I had always been stronger. And now I had him by the throat, and he was afraid. He lifted a hand to push me away, but I pressed the knife harder into his chest, and he stopped, gasping slightly at the pain. I could feel the motion in his throat under my palm.

"Are you going to kill me, Kizami…?" His voice was hoarse and raspy as he battled for air. Despite all this, there was a surety in his tone, a self confidence that the others hadn't had. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a grin. I saw his eyes widen slightly as he swallowed, struggling to not let the fear get to him. "Heh…" He smiled shakily, "Always knew there was something off about you. You're a fucking psychopath, aren't you?" My grin faltered. "A sadist. Like the ones on TV. And here there's no one around to keep you under control."

"You sure talk a lot for someone with a knife against his heart." I growled, pressing it in another half centimetre. blood bloomed across the front of his shirt, flowing freely now.

I had never liked the labels they tried to put on me. I wasn't insane. There was nothing wrong with me. They had tried to diagnose me with some mental disorder, put me on medication. Make me go to therapy. I had showed them there was nothing wrong with me. I hadn't let them blow my occasional fantasies out of proportion. And here… Here there were a new set of rules. I had read the notes, the scrawlings of the other victims. I wasn't the only murderer in here. There was nothing irrational about my behaviour. How dare this stuck up rockstar wannabe try to call me insane. There was nothing insane about me.

"I would ask you to make it quick, but you probably get off on seeing me in pain, don't you?" I pressed down harder on his neck, cutting off his words along with his air. I could feel him struggling to breathe, but all he could manage were strained gasps. I could see the panic that came right before death starting to set in, that inherent need to survive that every living creature has pushing him to find some way, any way out of this.

"You know what, Shimada?" I leaned in, murmuring softly, my voice perfectly controlled as I looked him right in the eye, savouring his every reaction; his racing pulse, his hands clawing at my wrist, his horrible, failed breaths and the way his eyes struggled to focus on mine. The tip of my knife trailed over his front, catching every now and then on the blood soaked fabric of his shirt until it rested just over his navel. "You're right."

It took a lot less force than you'd think. Kai's body jerked, and he would have screamed if not for my hand at his throat. I felt his blood on my hand, running from the blade to the hilt down my arm. It was pleasantly warm. Releasing my grip on his neck, I twisted the blade. He gasped in air, only to dissolve into a fit of coughing, red flecking his lips. Eyes wide and incredulous as he looked up at me, he pitched forward. I took half a step backwards to catch him as he fell, my knife ripping free of his stomach, leaving a gash about five inches long from his navel to the underside of his ribs. His weight was warm against me, and he clutched at my chest as his legs gave way beneath him, his blood staining the front of my blazer. Slowly, I let him fall to his knees before me, his strength leaving him before my eyes. I stood for a moment, looking down on him as he sank to the floor, proud of my handiwork, before I knelt beside his prone form, still clutching my blade. He lay on his side, pressing his hands to his wound where it bled out over the rotten floorboards. He didn't cry out. He didn't beg for help or for mercy. He just lay there, as though he were in shock. I pushed him gently, rolling him onto his back. He didn't have the strength to fight me. Underneath the torn rags of his shirt, I could see the gash, still bleeding steadily. His chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to get oxygen to his cells though there was nothing to take it there. I didn't even notice when he reached out a hand to grab my wrist and pull me close. Close enough to hear as he spat through gritted teeth, "Fuck you, Kizami."

Smiling softly, I raised the knife again, positioning it over the centre of his chest. I watched his face closely as I finished him, observing every detail of his death. His mouth opened in one final, weak sound of pain, gasping his last through parted lips. I could feel the muscle of his heart contracting around the blade, making it reverberate against my hand, and I could feel as it got weaker, until I couldn't feel it anymore. His hand around my wrist slipped, leaving bloody fingerprints on my skin as it fell to his side. And his eyes… I watched as they went from anger to fear to acceptance to… nothing. He still looked at me, but as his body fell still, the breath slipping from his lips and his heart failing, they lost focus and didn't come back. They weren't glassy, not yet, just… distant. I felt my own breath catch in my chest. There was nothing quite like it, that moment. The moment when a life leaves a body. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. Kai had been a model, I knew, and he'd always been admired by those who were interested in that type of thing, but to me he'd never been more alluring than he was in this moment, slipping into death. It was breathtaking.

Then it was over, and he was gone. I didn't think I'd ever seen him without a smirk, a sneer or a scowl on his face, but now his expression was neutral as his eyes gazed through me. The look became him. I'd leave him like this, for the next person to find. Maybe it'd be the glasses kid with the corpse fetish. I hoped so. He'd appreciate my work.

Standing, I shrugged off my stained blazer, using it to wipe the blood from my hands. I slipped my knife into my belt loop and draped the ruined garment over my shoulder, hoping the dark reddish colour of the material was good enough to mask the colour of the blood. Fortunately it hadn't gotten through to my shirt. I couldn't be walking around covered in the stuff; no one would trust me enough to get close to them then. Satisfied, I looked at the body at my feet once more, nudging his face up towards me with the toe of my boot and regarding him sombrely before letting it fall and walking away, visions of his death playing over and over in my mind, making me smile. I let out a happy sigh as I strode down the hall, one question in my head; _Right. Who's next?_


End file.
